


Let Your Teeth Sink In

by ComiclzWrites



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Porn, Bottom Axel, Explicit Sexual Content, Incubus Saïx, M/M, Organization XIII (Kingdom Hearts), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sad with a Happy Ending, Top saïx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 21:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComiclzWrites/pseuds/ComiclzWrites
Summary: He loved him, but loving him could put him in danger, could kill him, so Isa grew distant, and soon Saïx just stayed away as much as he could- he'd rather starve himself then put Axel in danger. So he did. Cursed from birth, as an incubus Saix feeds feeds on his own energy just to stay alive, and keep the one he really cares about safe but how long will that last?





	Let Your Teeth Sink In

**Author's Note:**

> My Horn for Saïx made me do this.  
> ANYWAY: Please read for clarification, much like KH as a game this two part short drabble is vague on the like finer details because it was just my chaotic energy for Saïx being poured into a word doc.  
> This takes place away from the plot of the games, basically an abstract time during Organization XII happening but not in the grit of it-- AU where everything is the same only Saix is an incubus instead of Norted is kind of where this started. The key here is that Norted = demon, and norted in this sense isn't turned evil, but rather just demonically awakened, but those who are norted hide their eyes, pointed ears etc, with demonic powers. 
> 
> Saïx was a born incubus that awakened his demonic form as he grew older / of age, however he's in love with his childhood friend Axel, and being an incubus in love is basically a death sentence, Saïx started growing distant for Axel's own protection. This drabble takes place where Saïx running out of time and loosing his battle to keep his demonic incubus form hidden from Axel. 
> 
> Also big thank you to @AsexualKittyCat25 aka Hannah for ONCE AGAIN putting up with my grammar and spelling, and Beta'ing the work, please let me know if I miss anything, or forgot a tag!

“Disgusting.”

The words sound hollow on his lips and there’s a bitter twist in his stomach that anyone else might have detected. His shields are shallow and come in the form of a blank expression and emotionless tone. At this point it’s all he has. It’s a raw exposure he doesn’t like, hiding his emotions is his defense and it’s suddenly cracked.

“I’m returning to my room.”

There’s a splitting fear, like a bolt through his body, but he hides it. He schools his expression and by some benevolent gesture Xemnas chooses to let him go. If there’s any added speed in his step it’s subtle, slow enough that no one would notice, _no one should notice._ It grows like wool on his skin, everything’s slightly off, itchy like the clothing he’s worn all day suddenly doesn’t work— it chafes his skin, _it’s not supposed to be there_.

The door to his private room feels like a safe haven, because the world is too bright and behind this door is his shadowed sanctuary. The door barely opens fast enough; he can’t stop himself from taking a second to glance at his hand, shaking as it tightens around the doorknob. His nails have already grown, their claw like appearance should be natural to him—instead their sight is like a knife suddenly twisting deeply in his gut. The nails harden to a black onyx shade, something natural to his design, something that will grow back no matter how many times he clips them.

He wants to slam the door shut, make its foundation splinter with force, crack under his power, his anger, _the emotions he isn’t supposed to have_. Instead he closes the door carefully, a soft click as if his own body isn’t trying to rip itself apart as he does it. The sound of the lock sliding in place is almost angelic at this point and he feels skin tighten. He’s passed his borrowed minutes and he feels the steam rush off his form like an explosion.

* * *

 

The room is pitch black, the only light coming from the soft shine of the moon, like a comforting hand on Saïx’s body as it breaks and reforms. His clothing is discarded, haphazardly thrown about in a manner so unkempt it would usually give him a headache. Shaking hands slide over his temple as if it’ll resolve the pounding, a grunt slipping from his lips as the shift of his horns finish, their growth finally complete. They’re longer now, they get longer every time they come out. He’s reached a limit. The idea of a next time seems impossible to think of. His mind can’t focus on it now, thoughts are slipping away faster then he wants.

His sheets are a mess, crumpled and pushed into a mound for his hips to fuck into. His cock drips impatiently, wanting something real to penetrate. Something alive that will scream in a pleasure, a mirror want he can eat right off their lips. His stomach growls with an arcane roar, demanding, but he ignores it. He knows his tail is whipping restlessly trying to work off the energy his body is wasting.

_He’s starving_.

His hips stutter forward again and in a poor attempt of self control he bites the moan back, his fangs slicing through the corner of his lip. Even in only moonlight he can see the blood, the red it should be looks black, but regardless it’s enough for the thoughts to flood over. Red, _his color_ , it feels like a taunt to his own face. A denial of the only selfish desire he’s never been able to shake away.

The wholesome memory of childhood before his body turned into the lustful creature it is now. Before his demonic form finalized into the incubus that was born dormant in his body. When he was young and practically a human by demon standards. When things were simple for him. _For them_ . When he could kiss those lips without wanting to immediately pull moans from them. The leather rub of his wings almost brings him out of it. His skin is shaking with the thin sheen of sweat, his body straining to keep himself afloat. Sealed. He just wants _him_ , it would relieve everything, fix everything. _But Saïx isn’t suppose to want._

His wings flutter, wrapping around his body like a vice against the mattress. He wants what he can’t have and the torture soaks into his bones. His wings feel heavy, fuller, weighed down by the excess energy his body is hellbent on burning out of a starving hunger. His own wings shouldn’t feel foreign, but they do. The leathery slip of their folds as they press against Saïx’s own body in a desperate movement to cover his skin feels unnatural. He’s avoided his true form, his breed, for too long and now he’s a novice at his own body. He feels controlled, weighed down by his arousal, it aches for something, a torment that feels unbearable. His eyes slam shut as his mind runs with imagination he can’t control. His own memories offering up scenes of innocent times when inexperienced messy kisses felt perfect and there was no hunger there to feed.

A hollow heart obsessed with a love he never should of felt, but he did. He failed the first step, the first _rule_ of his kind in favor of following a charming smile and a sun-filled laugh. The room feels too big, barren. He was never one for materialistic needs, and suddenly that feels like a mistake; there is nothing personal in this space and it places a foreign sensation in his brain that leaves his body prickling with chill. He wants familiarity, something to ground his shaking nerves while his own being betrays him to his lower necessities, _his fundamental lust._ What makes it worse is he knows, knows barely a few yards away is Axel’s room, _Lea’s room._ The idiot acts so human, so full of emotion for someone who shouldn’t have any; his room is personalized — _human._ He wants to be there but the mere thought of the redhead has his back arching as he tries to fuck the padding of his bed harder. The angry pressure the sheets bring turns into some disfigured form of alleviation to his desires.

Like a twisted blessing his transformation completes itself, the itch of his skin settling into a warm simmer. Despite the small relief the _want_ never leaves but at least his skin fits itself now, the curl of his tail against his own thigh, the press of his wings suddenly stopping to instead stretch out before folding back. His head throbs with the lingering pain caused from the finished growth of his horns. He should be exhausted but the growl of his desires keep him distracted. He hates the hunger in his body. The arousal in his system that demands to be satisfied. He can’t give himself what he wants, it’s _forbidden,_ it puts the only thing he manages to care about at risk. It’s what _they_ want and while Saïx will give them everything, even himself, he won’t give _Lea_ . As much as he can control—Axel is chaotic, fiery, he follows orders but he’s also a wild card. As irritating as it is deep down it stirs his _emotions_ more than he would like. He just wants to keep Axel out of it, but the damned redhead crawled his way into the organization regardless.

With an exhausted breath he flips on his back his wings spreading against the sheets again, letting the sensitivity of the fabric against his wings send shivers down his sides. The membrane is sensitive from the transformation, _from the hunger_ , his body is hardwired to find pleasure. Saïx hates it, but his cock lays against his stomach hard and angry, glistening from the poor excuse of a rough fuck he gave his mattress while he was turning. He’ll have to wash the sheets later but right now the thought is far from mind. Instead he debates subjecting himself to the torture he craves or suiting back up and walking out. Within seconds he knows the latter option is useless, he can’t shift back if he tried. His body _wants_ , and he has to feed it something.

It’s a deep denial as he wraps his hand around the base of his own arousal; his other hand moving to fall over his face in a poor attempt to hide his own action from his view. If he doesn’t see himself maybe he can ignore the sin of this own actions. It helps like a half full room temperature glass of water on a hot day. It can take the bite off, can stop him from completely losing himself, hell it can even allow him to hold his form a few days longer—but his own pleasure is meaningless to his hunger. It turns into substance he can sustain himself on but there is no _flavor_. His hips arch again, fucking into his own, palm biting back any sounds, the walls are thick but he’d rather the precaution than actual deal with someone hearing him.

His cock his hard in his hand, throbbing with so much heat it’s like all the energy in his body has transfixed to one area. His own tail wraps tighter around his thigh as if holding itself back from taking actions into its own hand. He’s done it before, this isn’t the first time his hunger has peaked, he wants to avoid it though. He distrusts his demonic form, the claws that grow where his nails once were are risky enough. Thinking about his form only sours his mood, but the emotion is trampled by a wave of _need_ that rushes through his body as the precum already dripping from his prick lubricates the strokes of his hand just a bit more. He falls into a mindless rhythm, his body on display, his wings curling and folding over him before flattening to the bed, mimicking his breathing pattern. He tries to keep his thoughts away from red hair and green eyes but they return, _wanting_ , he thinks of Axel—of _Lea_ , what it would be like now, to have him. He wants to touch him, he _craves_ the feel his skin, how soft it is, how rough it is, where the scars start and where the callouses end. He’d groan probably, complain that Saïx was interested in the odd things, that he was taking so long, that he wanted to get to _the good shit_ and the idea is humorous. Saïx wants to laugh because he can imagine how impatient Axel would be. Saïx wants to take him apart though, take his time, feast on him. The idea of rushing their time together would be blasphemous—despite his breed, his hunger, Saïx would never treat the redhead with such indigenty. He wants to memorize everything, _ironically enough_ , get his expressions down, his gasp, his moans, the way his hips would arch under his touch, the way Axel would fall apart for him.

It’s dangerous to think about how he would taste, probably hot, warm, something spicy on the tongue—whatever the taste,it would be _perfection_ though Saïx would deny it. In truth, regardless of his starving state there isn’t a single thing about Axel that Saïx doesn’t want. That man is a pain, but it's the type of pain Saïx wants to grab push to the wall and _kiss_ until they’re both panting. Maybe it's the memories of their close childhood, maybe it's the stubborn loyalty of the redhead chasing after him and joining this cursed organization. Whatever it is, it sticks to Saïx’s heart infecting his entirety with emotions his race isn’t supposed to feel. An incubus in love? _Laughable_ . But he is, fuck he’s so gone no matter how emotionless he tries to be, how stone cold he might act. The base of his dick hurts, still unable to find release in his own hand, a reminder how dangerous these thoughts are. Saïx lets them flow though, lets his desire peak as he continues to stroke himself. His nail presses at the base, almost painful, but the spike of sensation does _everything,_ cum beads at the tip of his cock. There’s nothing to mimic how Axel’s mouth might feel, how his hot or tight his throat would be, he can’t imagine a tongue he hasn’t felt in ages.

He gets lost in wishing, wishing the hand around his arousal belonged to someone else, that he could be taking Axel for himself, that he could just let go, and it wouldn’t hurt the one person he has left. His thighs burn, his legs twitching in their held pose, the arch of his back starting to turn into a tight knot, but still he spreads himself, bending to answer a need, his wrist hurts, his body thums with a want he can’t fully satisfy. He doesn’t know how long he’s been at this, the pains in his body the only recollection that it has been too long, that he's been at this for a ungodly length of time. He moves an arm, clawing into the sheets, ignoring the sound they make as they shred under his strength. His cock is swollen, angry in his rough strokes, there's a pool of precum on his stomach and he’s aware of the dewy glow to his skin. The desperate display on his body showing him he’s doing the bare minimum to feed himself, that his energy is malnourished.

He didn't ask to be born like this, to have demon blood in his veins, to grow up to discover his nutritional value was dependent on pleasure. He managed to get by, at the cost of distancing himself from the man doomed by his touch, for an incubus to fall in love is a suicide mission. He pushes the fear form his mind, the depressing circumstances of his pitiful existence. He can’t afford to think about any of it, or it will kill whatever miniscule pleasure he’s managed to create for himself. Saïx lets his eyes drift close again, daring to think about what he would do if he had the freedom. The desire to take Axel apart is unfathomable, the mere thought of taking him, pleasuring him, feeling his body shake under his touch. The idea of swallowing his moans and pushing him over as many times as his body and mind would allow—of the afterglow, the soft fleeting tired touches, the husky laugh Axel would probably give before complaining about how his throat hurt. He can feel his body growing tighter, the aches of his muscles slowly falling away as he nears what he knows will be an unsatisfying climax. It’s embarrassing what brings him over, the soft thought of a shared bed, foreheads against each other, mangled—unrealistically pleasant smelling—breath, light touches and a shared warmth that makes all the pain vanish like a bad dream.

The heat of the room simmers, cooling until it’s dull and stale. The familiar feeling of disgust settles, his bones ache unpleasantly. He feels _weak,_ like he ate a meal full of air. It takes more strength then he wants to sit up, more energy than he can bring himself to admit to walk to his crumpled clothing on the floor. He moves to his dresser, slow, sluggish, grabbing his pajamas to bring to the bathroom. Washing up is all he has, the water of the shower luke warm at best, not that he cares. He lets the evidence desperation wash away, and when he feels as human has he manage he shuts the water off. The mirror is telling, the water having never gotten warm enough to fog it up. While his wings and tail have left, his claws back their original blunt nail shape, his eyes aren’t changing back—he realizes with a sinking feeling they won’t, the tips of his ears remain pointed, his gaze unearthly.

His limit has found its breaking point.  


**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry Axels coming in the second chapter to resolve that pain.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed, please leave a comment so I can be filled with determination to write. Seriously every comment means so much-- I know this fandom is kind of small, and Saïx lovers aren't the biggest part, but i love me that jealous bitch. 
> 
> MY TWITTER FOR WRITING, UPDATES, AND INTERACTIONS IS: ComiclzW  
> https://twitter.com/ComiclzW
> 
> Follow it if you want updates on my writing, see whats happening, get previews, or voting polls to help me decided chapters!


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